


The Widow of Winterfell

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The widow of Winterfell is not as free as they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No, it doesn't make sense. Just go with it, ok?

“How many more?”

“Six, my lady.”

Six, only six.  Six was good.  Six was doable.  She took a deep breath and rolled her head subtly, trying to work the tension out of her poor stiff shoulders.

They had been sitting at this table since they broke their fasts, listening to petitioner after petitioner, stopping only long enough to make water and have their meals.  And even the meals were served at the table so that they didn’t waste any time.

Rebuilding Winterfell was laborious- the tasks never-ending, the decisions never-ending, the people who wanted to come and promise fealty were never-ending.  She welcomed it all with a glad heart, grateful to have her home back, even if it did need so much work. 

It had been nine months since she returned home.  Her bannermen had flocked to the Stark name, and she was grateful for them, grateful to be among people who loved and respected her instead of hurting and humiliating her. 

In truth, she was grateful for the steady stream of work; it was the best excuse to stay unwed.  She had her own reasons, of course, but they were reasons she didn’t want to share, reasons that would never be supported by her bannermen.  Instead, she promised them all that she would consider a proper marriage only after Winterfell was fully operational again, and that satisfied them.  For now.

Sansa finished a few more notes then looked up at her steward with a tired smile.  “I’m ready.  Who’s next?”

“Reyna Karstark, my lady.  She seeks your assistance in finding a squire position for her youngest son.”

Sansa stifled an exasperated sighed.  “We’ll see what we can do.  Go ahead and send her in.”

Before anyone could move, though, there was a sudden noise behind her, and her castellan was at her side.

“My lady, there is an issue at the gate.  You should come with me.”

“What sort of issue?” she asked, trying to hide her fear.

The castellan looked around, then leaned in closer to whisper.  “It’s your husband.”

“My husband?” she asked numbly.  _Tyrion_?   No, that made no sense.  He wasn’t her husband, not anymore, and no one in her household would ever refer to him as such. 

“You know my husband is dead.  What of him?”  She was sure that her confusion was plain, so she took a breath and steeled her expression into firm indifference before finally meeting the worried eyes of her castellan.  

“He’s here,” he said breathlessly.

The door in front of them opened with a bang and she stood up suddenly from the shock.  The man she hadn’t seen in years, the man many thought was dead, was now looming in the doorway, gray eyes piercing into hers.  And he was furious.

_Oh fuck._

“I’m sorry, my lady, I tried to keep him out, tried to get him to wait…”

“It’s alright,” she muttered.    

 _I’m a Stark; I can be brave_.  She forced herself to meet his eyes as he walked slowly into the room, suddenly becoming aware that her mouth was open and her chest was heaving.  She took a breath and clamped her jaw, raising her chin.  

“What….who….what….” she heard Maester Cregan blustering next to her.  “Guards!  Seize this man!”  Sandor’s eyes went to the men rushing towards him and his hand went to his sword, a sudden cry erupted in the room.  Sansa had to gain control.

“Stop!”  Thankfully, everyone froze and looked to her for instruction.  “Don’t touch him,” she couldn’t help but sneer.  “He’s not a criminal.”  No one moved for several heartbeats, but finally the guards eased away and Sandor let his sword slide back into its sheath before turning his gaze…uh, _glare_ …back to her.

Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to do something.  _What do I do?  What did mother do when father came home?  Kiss him?  Uh…_   Taking a calming breath, she turned away from the table and made her way around it, into the middle of the room and in front of the man.  She clasped her hands in front of her and turned her eyes up to him.

“Hello, my lord.”  

She was certain she could see the anger in his eyes flare up at her words.  _Not a lord_ , she could almost hear him say.  Except he _was_ a lord, at least to her bannermen.  And to her.  _Don’t say anything, not yet.  Please.  I’ll explain later._

“Are you hungry?”  He looked confused at her sudden change of subject.  “Come with me.”   

She turned and walked out of the room, down the hall towards her chambers, and he followed behind, wordlessly.  _He walks different_.  He was moving with a slight limp, and she wondered if that was a recent injury or another new scar.   

Her steward was rushing along beside her.  “My lady, I don’t think this is a very good idea.”

“He’ll need food,” she instructed him, ignoring his insolence.  “And wine, some of the Dornish red.  Water for a bath.  And clean clothes, if you can find any.”  Her steward said nothing, but continued to rush along beside her, till she stopped at the door to her chambers and gave him a hard look.

“Yes, my lady,” he muttered, and scurried away to follow her orders.  She watched him leave before glancing back up at the huge man, who was still, _still_ , glaring at her.  Swallowing hard, she opened the door and beckoned him in, closing it behind them.  He walked slowly to the middle of the room before turning again to look at her.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“No.”  It was the first thing he’d said since he showed up, the first time she heard his voice in years, and she was surprised at how it hit her, like something had stabbed her in the heart.  She took a breath and crossed the room to stand in front of him, looking him over.

“You look like all seven hells combined.”  He raised his eyebrows at her but otherwise didn’t move.  “What are you _wearing_?  Did you _find_ that?”

It was true, he looked awful, even worse than she remembered, new scars visible on his neck and face.  He had armor, but it was dented and mismatched, most pieces too small to fit him properly.  His cloak was a tattered rag, his boots looked like they were falling apart, and he was filthy.  And he smelled.

He had narrowed his eyes into angry slits and she felt herself buckling under his gaze.  She knew this conversation would have to happen eventually, but she never imagined it would happen like this, and never thought it would be tonight.  It had already been such a long day. 

“This will be easier when you’re clean and fed,” she said gently.  She didn’t have to say more; she knew he’d know what she meant.  “Are you tired?  Would you rather wait until the morning?”  _Please_.

He closed his eyes and sighed.  “No.”

When he opened his eyes again they were no longer angry, and she dropped her gaze and nodded.  “My solar is at the end of the hall.  I’ll be there when you’re ready.”

She left him in her chamber, closing the door behind her before leaning against the wall, her heart aching.  _He’s here_.  Her relief was overwhelming, her fear overwhelming.  _He’s here.  He’s alive.  And he’s angry_.

She had prayed nightly for this day to come, and now it was here and she didn’t know what to do.  How was she going to explain this to him?  She had practiced the conversation millions of times in millions of ways, but now that it was upon her the words all seemed wrong.  He was practically a stranger to her, yet she longed for him anyway.  Honest, loyal, strong, fierce.  She missed him when he had left her, cursed him for leaving, and now she had forced his return.  She knew what she would have to do to make him understand, knew the only way to win him over.

She'd have to lie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just keep on suspending your disbelief. It doesn't make sense, but I like it anyway.

It was at least an hour before he knocked at the door of the solar.

“Come in.”  She didn’t look up at first as she finished writing a sentence, but when she did she had to stifle a laugh.  Quickly she looked down at her parchment before he could see her, the glance enough to tell her not to look up for a while.

He was wearing the same boots, cleaned up as best as could be expected.  The breeches, though, were way too small, and the tunic he wore was bright purple with yellow trim.  Where had they even found such a hideous thing?  She casually covered her mouth with her hand as if she were simply resting on it, and wrote another sentence to give herself time to regain her composure.  After a moment she set the quill down and met his eyes.

“Something funny?” he grumbled.

She shook her head and pressed her lips together.  “No.  Um, please, sit down.”  

He moved to a chair directly across from her at the table and sunk into it, legs stretched out in front of him, fingers laced together across his stomach.  _He’s enormous_.  They sat in silence for a while, just looking at each other, before he finally sighed in frustration.

“Are you really going to make me ask?”

No, she wasn’t.  She knew the question already, she just had to figure out the answer. 

“Fine,” he growled, not even trying to hide his irritation.  “How in seven hells did we wind up _married_?”        

She drummed her fingers on the table between them, still searching for the right thing to say.  Finally, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak.

“Would you like some wine?”

“ _Sansa!”_

She sighed.  What was the right answer?  What did he want to hear?  What could she tell him- that she dreamed of him, prayed for him, searched for him?  What could she say to this man who valued honesty above all else?

 _Lie_.  “It was Cersei.”  He made a face at her and waited for her to say more.  When she didn’t, he waved his hand as if asking for her to continue.

“Um…” Gods, how did he still manage to make her feel like a timid little girl?  “They married me to Tyrion.  Lannister.  Maybe you didn’t know.  Um…anyway…they did it because they wanted to control me.  It was their way of taking my claim for their own.”

He nodded at her, so she continued.

“Except it didn’t work out for them, because Tyrion left.  No one ever could find him, so he was declared dead, which made me his widow.  Which meant that instead of the Lannisters taking my claim, I was taking theirs.  Casterly Rock was Tyrion’s by birthright, I was his wife by law, so Casterly Rock was mine.  I was young and widowed and free to marry, and when I did they’d lose their claim.  To a Stark.”

He nodded as if agreeing, and she was relieved that he seemed to believe what she was saying.  _Of course he believes, so far it’s all true.  A little_.  

“So Cersei approached me with a sort of…trade- I’d make sure she got Casterly Rock, and she’d make sure I got Winterfell.  Just as it should be.”

He nodded again, but this time he seemed less sure. 

“The best way to give her Casterly Rock was to eliminate my claim.  The best way to eliminate my claim was to eliminate the marriage, and the only way to eliminate the marriage was to prove I was unable to marry Tyrion in the first place.  I _couldn’t_ marry Tyrion, if I was already married.”

He squinted at her suspiciously and didn’t nod, so she rushed forward with the story.

“Cersei found a sept that had been nearly destroyed by the war and altered the books to show that a marriage had already occurred, performed by a septon who was now dead.  Then she filed a petition stating that I was previously married, that she herself had witnessed the ceremony, and where to go to find the proof.”

“And why in seven hells would the _Queen_ witness a wedding between her son’s betrothed and his sworn shield?”

 _Ha, that’s exactly what Cersei asked!_   Sansa had the good sense to not say so, though.

“According to the petition, the Queen had long since decided that a marriage to a traitor’s daughter was not in the best interest of the realm, but Joffrey was far too honorable to break the betrothal.  So she took matters into her own hands by marrying the unworthy daughter to someone else.”

“Willingly?” he asked, incredulous.

“Oh, absolutely.  I’m a traitor’s daughter; I have no honor, I was more than happy to go along with her plan.  _You_ , on the other hand, were opposed to the marriage, but recognized it as part of your duty to keep the king out of harm’s way.  According to the petition.”

He shook his head.  “Why wouldn’t Cersei speak up before you got married to the Imp if you were already married?”

“ _Because_ Cersei hated her brother Tyrion, and was more than happy to saddle him with a marriage that would ultimately prove to be illegitimate.  She thought it would be funny.  According to the petition.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and seemed to think it over.  It made sense and it would work on him, she knew, because it had already worked on Cersei.  “So Cersei filed this petition to have your marriage annulled.  What did _you_ have to do?”

“Nothing.  The evidence was suspicious at best, the only way it would be accepted was if I didn’t fight it.  All I had to do was stay silent.  In return for my silence, she would make sure I got Winterfell.  And a few minor skirmishes later, I got what was promised.  If she didn’t do as she said then I could file my own grievance and call her a liar, the whole thing would fall apart.  Cersei already went through the wringer once, I knew she’d do anything to avoid another scandal.  Besides, it was a good arrangement for both of us.”

“So… _Cersei_ …chose me in her little scheme…because I was Joffrey’s sworn shield?” 

She took a deep breath and swallowed hard.  “It had to be someone I knew, someone who was in King’s Landing after I flowered.  It had to be someone alive but absent at the time of my wedding to Tyrion, and not anyone who could turn up and protest it later.  Everyone said you were dead.  You were the most logical choice.”

He raised one eyebrow.  “You thought I was dead?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re surprised I’m alive?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes again and smirked, and she bit her lip.

“So me showing up right now…that puts you in a pretty bad situation.”  He sounded amused.  “You can’t say we _weren’t_ really married, because that would mean that you and Tyrion were married.  And you can’t say we _were_ really married, because that would mean you’re….really married.  To _me_.”  

She looked down at her shaking hands and took a deep breath before returning his gaze.  “Are you angry?”

He snorted loudly.  “ _Angry_?  Why would I be angry?  Seems like a pretty good deal for me.  For you….not so much.”

She fidgeted nervously and couldn’t look at him as he pushed out of his chair and walked around the table to her.  Grabbing her gently by the elbow, he pulled her out of her seat and into his arms. 

“You never thought I might be alive?”  He ran his hands over her back, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched.

“No.”

“You never expected I might find out, come looking for you?”  He traced one hand down her arm and laced his fingers with hers.

“No.”

He took a deep breath and pulled her close.  “Do you remember our wedding night, little bird?” he asked, his mouth at her ear.  “All the sweet and wonderful things you let me do to you?”

She laughed a little at that.  “I confess, I do not remember.”  He ran his hand under her chin and lifted it to him, a smug smirk on his face. 

“Maybe I should remind you.”  

Her eyes went wide in surprise, but he just laughed and pulled her by the hand, out of the solar and down the hallway to her chambers so that they could finally- _finally_ \- consummate the marriage that never happened.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this count as crack fic?

_I’m nervous!_  She had let him lead her all the way to her chambers, and now she was completely flushed in warmth and happiness as he shut and latched the door.  She was gazing up at him, and he was smirking down at her, before he pulled her back to his arms and nuzzled at her neck.

“You look ridiculous in those clothes,” she murmured at him.

“You want me to take them off?” he shot back, leaning away to see her eyes then laughing at her stunned expression.  He looked…playful…and she swallowed hard to hold back her nerves.  Gods, that look on his face, the way he leered at her, the way he raised his eyebrow at her as if this was all a jape…it wasn’t exactly the expression of everlasting love and devotion she wanted to see.  But really, maybe she should have known better, considering the man himself.  He looked like he was waiting for something, for _what_ she couldn’t say, but whatever it was he didn't get it so he gently pulled her flush against his chest. 

His fingers rubbed lightly at her back, up and down and in circles, and she rested her head against him because she didn’t know what else to do.  She felt him pull her hair out of his way before sliding his hand up to the nape of her neck.  And then he was pulling at the laces of her dress, slowly undoing every knot, tugging them loose between caresses.  It felt like hours before she finally felt the binding give way.  His fingers inched their way up to her shoulders and eased the fabric down and she knew that her dress would be off of her in a matter of seconds.

He threw his hands up before dropping them to his side.  “Seven hells, woman, are you ever going to stop me?”

 _Stop him_?  She looked down so he couldn’t see her confusion.  “No real reason to, is there?”

“There is if you don’t want to fuck me,” he said with irritation then stopped in surprise, and she could feel a blush rising up her neck and over her ears.  He leaned in to see her face, but she turned away from him to hide.

“You _want_ to.”  He was incredulous, and grabbed her arms to turn her towards him.  “You _want_ to!” he repeated.  “Seven buggering hells!”

 _Gods, he’s almost as awful as I remember_.  He was far too amused, and Sansa didn’t like it.  “You’re my husband!” she snapped at him, and he barked a laugh.  “Stop laughing at me!” 

“Lady Sansa Stark, wants to lay with an old scarred dog.”

Sansa wriggled from his grasp and shoved him in the chest before tugging up her partially removed dress.  “You’re awful!”

“You knew that when you married me.  Oh, quit your blushing, we both know you’re no maiden.”

She couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on her face, so she quickly looked away before he could notice.  But he did, she knew, and he froze as the room fell silent.  He didn’t say anything, didn’t move a muscle, and after a few seconds she cautiously glanced up at him.  He looked stunned…and a little horrified.  After several heartbeats, he took a step backwards without looking at her.

“The Imp?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

He took another step backwards.  “Never?”

She rolled her eyes with a sigh and shook her head.  _Why won’t he look at me_?

“Why not?” he asked, disbelieving what he heard.

“I…didn’t want to.”

He squeezed his eyes together and grimaced.  “And he was fine with that?”

She shrugged.  “Apparently.”

Sandor shook his head.  “He’s a fool.”  She knew what he meant by that, and found it a little ironic.  A man married had every right to bed his own wife, yet he himself was standing there, married, and still hadn’t made any real move to bed her, either.  Worse, he kept backing away from her, and refused to meet her eyes.

“I never should have told you,” she muttered with a sigh.

“How would you _hide_ it?” he sneered.

“I wouldn’t _hide_ it, you’d just find out _later_.”  Oh gods, were they still talking about this?  Was he going to make fun of her again?  “Why does it matter?”

He held his hand up to her as if to stop her even though she hadn’t moved, and he took another step backwards.  He shook his head and closed his eyes.  “It just does.”  Then he went to the door and opened it.

She felt a sudden panic and had to fight it back.  “Where are you going?”

He stood at the open door and seemed to think for a moment.  “Just…walking.”

“You’ll come back?” she asked, her voice tiny and childlike to her own ears.

After a second, he nodded, then closed the door behind him as he left.

 _What just happened?_   When they first arrived to her chambers she had been certain she would soon be losing her maidenhead, and she had been frightened and nervous and _so_ _ready_.  Had he really never intended to bed her?  Was he really just playing with her?  Did he really care so little that he would rather see her embarrassed than see her naked?

And why did he care so much that she was still a maiden?  That wasn’t fair.  She’d clung fiercely to her virtue, protecting it when everything else was stripped away from her, yet somehow it made her….what, _unlovable_?  How could that be?

What if he didn’t want her?  What if he never came back?  _Of course he’ll come back.  He said he would, and he doesn’t lie_.  But he’d left her before, in far worse circumstances.  If he didn’t want her, didn’t want to be married, then he could just leave, and she couldn’t stop him.  What would she do then?  She had no options, she was stuck married to him till one of them was dead. 

Sansa shrugged her dress off and made to get ready for bed; she would wait up for him, for a little while at least.  Fighting back tears, she told herself that if he left her she’d learn to accept it.  She’d done it before, she could do it again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“You lied.”

She woke with a start at his voice, and squinted in the darkness to find him.  She slowly rose to one elbow then sat up, swinging her legs down to the side.  And then she waited.

 _Where is he?_ She sat as quietly as she could, trying to catch a sound, a glimpse, anything.  She couldn’t even hear him breathing.  She was starting to wonder if she had imagined it when there was a spark in the corner and a candle being lit.  He lit a few more candles before grabbing a chair and pulling it over to the bed.  He set the chair down and sat to face her, and she instinctively reached a hand to her hair to make sure it wasn’t a mess.

“Want to tell me the truth this time?”

The way the candles were positioned, she couldn’t see his face, could barely make out his eyes, but she knew he could see her just fine.  She pressed her lips together and looked away nervously.

“Let’s start with…Cersei‘s idea for a sham marriage.  True?”

Sansa huffed.  “Not really.”

“Whose idea was it?”

She took a deep breath and slowly let it all out.  “Mine.”

“So…the records of the nearly-destroyed sept?”

“I changed them.”

“And the petition?”

“I wrote it; she signed it.”

He shook his head in the darkness.  “Why would she go along with it?”

“I already told you, it was in her best interest to eliminate my claim.”

“No,” he rumbled slowly.  “Everyone knew Tywin hated Tyrion and didn’t want him to have Casterly Rock.  Cersei didn’t have to do anything.”

“Tywin was dead.  And even though people knew how he felt about Tyrion, I still could have made a fuss and tried to claim my husband’s lands.  It was easier for Cersei to just eliminate my claim.”

“And she went along with it just because you said so?”

She tried to find his eyes in the darkness, wanting to know how he was accepting all of this, but ultimately she sighed and looked away in resignation.  “Not exactly.”

He growled at her then, obviously frustrated.  “Tell me _exactly_ why then.”

“Jaime.”  When there was no reply, she continued.  “Jaime told her it was his idea, convinced her it was the only way to _truly_ secure her claim, told her that as long as I got Winterfell back then I’d have no reason to argue.”

There was more silence, and finally he replied.  “And the ‘minor skirmishes?’”

“Jaime took care of it.”

His sentences were coming slow and measured, she could tell he was annoyed, even though she couldn’t see him.  “Why would Jaime Lannister help you get Winterfell back?”

“Because of Brienne.”

The shadow in front of her sunk into the chair and she heard a loud sigh.  “I’m so fucking confused right now.”  She covered her mouth with one hand to hide her giggles but couldn’t disguise the way her body was shaking.  “Who the fuck is Brienne?”

“It’s such a long story….”  She smiled to herself, remembering her time with Jaime and Brienne, remembering the way they talked to each other, respected each other.  “I’ll tell you all about it later, but right now it doesn’t matter.  Jaime helped me because Brienne asked him to.”

She could hear him breathing and knew he was starting to calm down.  “So you went through all this trouble to get your old burned down castle back.”  He sat up.  “And that’s it?”

 _How does he know what questions to ask?_  Oh, gods, she had to tell him.  Would he be mad?  No, of course not, why would he be mad?

“Sansa…” he began.  “What else did you get?”

She squeezed her eyes together and grimaced.  “A full pardon for you…” she said slowly and bit her lip, but when the silence stretched out between them she hastily added “…and Clegane Keep.”

His bark of laughter startled her.  “Why would you ask for that?  Why would she give it to you?”

She was sure her confusion was apparent on her face.  “Jaime told Cersei it was fair compensation for besmirching my good name by attaching it to yours.  Besides, I thought you’d want it.  Guess not.”

She was a little disappointed in his reaction- she wanted him to be pleased she had thought about it.  If he didn’t care…well, that was fine.  At least he wasn’t angry.

He leaned in closer to her, close enough that she could start to make out his face.  “You thought I would _want_ it?”

He sounded suspicious, though she couldn’t think why.  “Yes, of course.”

“You thought I would want it…when I came back?”

 _Oh.  Oops_.  “Yes.”

“You thought I would come back?”

“Yes.”

“You knew I was alive?”

“Yes.”

She could hear his breathing coming in short and ragged and wondered if he was piecing together everything she had just said.  “You’re still a maiden?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you annul your marriage that way?”

She took a deep breath and sighed, closing her eyes to his gaze.  “I wanted Winterfell back,” she began feebly, but there was really no point in pretending anymore.  “And…I couldn’t _find_ you.”

He’d figured it out.  She knew he figured it out, why else would he ask these questions.  It wasn’t about Winterfell, or Tyrion, or Casterly Rock, it had been about him.  She had changed the records, filled out the petition, lied about her virtue…knowing full well he was alive.  She unnecessarily and irrevocably bound herself to him, for life, and she had done it for no other reason than to lure him back. 

“Did you ever think that maybe I wouldn’t want to be married to _you_?”

“Yes,” she snapped petulantly.  “I just figured …you’d… get over it.”

He laughed at her then, a laugh full of mirth and free from derision.  “Your bannermen are not going to be pleased.”

She shook her head and grimaced.  “I never hid that I was married, they just assumed you were dead.  They can’t suddenly be unhappy about a marriage that they’ve known about all along.  Besides, you never even wanted to marry me- it says so right in the petition.  They can’t be mad at _you_ , if anything they would be mad at _Cersei_.  Which is fine with me.”

“Gods, you really thought of everything.  You worked that all out yourself?”

She laughed.  “Yes, pretty much.  I never told Jaime and Brienne why I was doing it, though, they think I’m not a maiden.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because that’s what I told them.”

He laughed again, this time reaching out to her and pulling her into his lap and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.  “Little bird…” he murmured.  “I don’t know if I should be afraid of you, or impressed.”

“Both,” she stated playfully, running her hand up his arm.  “You’ll stay.”

“Yes,” he agreed.  “No more lies.”

“No more lies. And…you’ll answer my questions?”

“Alright,” he said, snuggling closer.

“Why does it bother you I’m a maiden?”

She felt him tense and take a deep breath, and she waited patiently as he exhaled completely.  Then he coughed.  And cleared his throat.  “I don’t know…it’s hard to say.  I guess, I just thought you weren’t, and it surprised me when you said you were, especially since I could tell you…wanted…and…when I first heard…about being married…to me, I mean…I wondered what game you were playing…then I got here and you kept playing along like I didn’t know better….and I could tell you were lying.  In your solar, I mean- it was pretty damn obvious.  But then in your chambers…suddenly you’re honest… I thought I was missing something…couldn’t figure it out…and I didn’t expect we’d actually…you know…”

She never thought she would hear him so flustered, but there he was, babbling like a child caught stealing a lemon cake.  She traced the yellow trim of his hideous purple tunic.  “So…it doesn’t bother you?”

“No,” he stated flatly, and she suddenly realized that he was right, it _was_ easy to spot a lie.  She turned and looked at him sharply, narrowing her eyes to show her suspicion and he sighed.  “A little.”

“Why?” she asked, feeling hurt, but then she knew, could see it in his darkened features, could feel it in the way he tensed up.  “You’re _scared!”_ she stated, incredulous.  He gave her a murderous look and grabbed her breast, and she yelped and giggled at his pathetic attempt to distract her.  But then she pulled up on him and grazed his lips with hers- “You don’t have to be nervous.  I’ll be gentle.”

He growled and stood up, scooping her off his lap and onto the bed, rolling with her till she was laying on top of him.  So she kissed him, really kissed him, and he slid his hands around her and kissed her back.

“Sansa…” he murmured, pulling away.  _Oh seven hells, what now?_  “I need to tell you…about your sister.” 

“Yes,” she said gently, kissing his neck. 

“And …about where I’ve been.”

“Mmmhmmm.  You will.”

“And… will you tell me about Brienne?”

“I will,” she said without hesitation.  “Later.”

“And …Jaime?”

Sansa sighed in frustration.  “Sandor, if you don’t stop talking, I’m kicking you out of my bed.”

“Damn, woman, it’s your own fault,” he complained, _finally_ working the laces on her gown.  “If you hadn’t distracted me with all those lies you’d be fucked good and proper by now.”

She sat up and gave him a reproachful look.  “You’re still talking,” she pouted before pulling the gown over her head and throwing it on the floor.

This time when he looked at her, it was _exactly_ the expression she was hoping for. 


End file.
